Fletcher advanced. “I am Fletcher, sir. But what on earth are you doing here?”
With all his sense of respect, there was a note of suspicion in his voice, at which Sinclair laughed heartily.
“Oh! we are not committing a burglary,” he said “but as things were hanging fire, I thought I had better come down and have a look at matters for myself.”
“And may I ask,” said Fletcher rather annoyed that his Chief had come without informing him, “who is that with you?”
The old detective seemed to hesitate for a moment.
“Giles I be,” said the old man, with a senile chuckle, and Fletcher recalled that he had used exactly the same words on the former occasion. Was the place really haunted, and were these two figments of his own brain?
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming down, sir?” he said to Sinclair.
“To tell you the truth, I did not know myself until this afternoon, but something has happened which led me to intervene in the case. I was pretty certain of the true solution from the very first.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand even now. You say you are not committing a burglary, sir,” said Fletcher, and stopped.
The old man drew himself up with some dignity, and said in a very different voice.